Childe of my Heart ~ Chapter Thirty-two
by Shanyah
 

Pinewood burnt in the fireplace of the last room on the left wing and Xander guessed this was it, his destination. He stowed his bag in the wardrobe and catalogued the room. Oak bed and nightstand, mattress dressed in black silk sheets and an indigo blanket; very Spike. Sink in one corner, soap, toothpaste, hand towel and a glass with two toothbrushes on the sink. Why two toothbrushes? Was Spike implying his mouth was so big it needed two brushes or maybe…no. No. He’d go loopy if he started trying to guess what Spike was thinking.

So, two toothbrushes in a glass on the sink. Mirror above the sink, skylight above the bed, mammoth gray rug on the floor. Seating area in front of the fireplace: a couple of black leather bean bags, armchair, couch and low coffee table. Cream blanket thrown over the couch, black velvet cushions scattered on the blanket. Prickly cactus in a ceramic pot on the table.

He smiled at the plant. “You’re so much like my old room mate,” he said, picking up the book and notepad that had been placed beside the plant.

“The Zodiac: Stones and Signs,” he read from the book’s spine. He flipped back the notepad cover and scrawled across the front page was, The book’s a bore. Try it if you can’t sleep. Spike.  

Blanket and a cushion bundled under his arm, he glanced around the room once more. Needful things that should’ve been in it were missing, like crumpled red and white cigarette packs, indigo wristbands and a shiny silver Zippo on the nightstand.

The room was spacious and looked comfortable, just wasn’t his.

He went out onto the balcony, moved the wrought iron table and two chairs closer to the balcony wall so he could see across the yard. Cushion behind his head, feet on the seat of the other chair and blanket draped across his lap, he withdrew the pen that was inserted in the pad’s spiral binding and flipped to the contents page of the Zodiac book.

“Scorpio…Scorpio…page…no way,” he laughed, opening the Zodiac book to page 101.

*    *    *    *

Spike blew cigarette smoke out the open window, picturing in painful detail the field day spoon-bending Groza was probably having with Xander. He walked to and from the door three times, told himself not to be so bloody daft and sat back down on the window ledge, fingers drumming his thighs. The fourth time, he made it to the neighbouring unit and told a Select to check on the Baths.

“What am I checking for?” The bleary eyed man asked.

“The Pool House, see if it’s still standing,” Spike blustered.

He went. Spike paced around his courtyard, trying to find middle ground in a place that didn’t have middle ground between Earner and Earned. Shred it apart and put it back together again, manipulate every rule of pecking order, it still came down to kudos. Believable Master Vampires did not put up with unfaithful, mouthy soldiers and if Spike wanted to lead five thousand people, he had to be believable.

“The Pool House is still standing Mi Amo,” the Select came to tell him.

“Good,” he said.

He went to bed feeling bad, woke up gritty eyed after three hours’ sleep. Cold breakfast, cold shower and Spike was thinking clearly. Say he went to Xander and withdrew the Unbonding, where would that take them? Back to where they’d started; pushing, shoving and grinding each other down. He had to stand firm. But he also wanted Xander with him. Far as he could see, the only way he could stand firm and have his boy was to give Xander a get out clause and leave him be. Hope Harris wanted them to work out badly enough to come to him.

What them and work out were, the definition of these things, he left for a day in the far future because he couldn’t describe what he and Xander were or what he hoped they’d grow into. Knew only that they were both making a pigs’ ear of things and could do better than that. Much better. He pulled Xander’s rucksack from the wardrobe, packed what it could comfortably hold and took it to the Baths.

“Good morning, Mi Amo,” one of the Pool House guards said. “We were not expecting to see you before midday. Is all well?”

“Mind your own sodding business,” he said as the guards dragged the doors open. “And why are the gates not locked?”

“Monsieur ordered not to be barricaded within the walls,” a guard replied, “We will make certain tonight’s sentry secures them.”

You do that, Spike wanted to say. But he’d untied Xander, hadn’t he? Promised himself he wouldn’t behave the Amo or override Xander’s decisions, even if he thought unlocked gates were a security risk.

“No, leave it. But I want the main gates locked when I’m not here.” He pruned moss off the arch and creased his brow at the soft green ball, “You seen the bo…the Monsieur at all?”

“Yes Mi Amo, he has twice sent for coffee from the restaurant and is at this moment bathing.”

Xander swimming? Flopping about more like if he swam the way he used to fight. He climbed the stairs to the balcony, walked round to the side overlooking the pool and sat on the balcony wall. Perfect vantage point for watching Harris. Not floppy then. Xander swam a length in breast-stroke, somersaulted under water and feet against the pool’s wall, pushed off still submerged, cleaving the water and making the surface ripple.

The blue swimming shorts spoilt the view, Spike thought, that thought disintegrating when Xander ended the length and folded his arms on the pool’s edge. Brow on his arms, Xander clung as though the rippling water would carry him out, his breathing torn as though the air hurt his lungs.

“Xander,” and he wasn’t surprised Xander didn’t look up because he’d whispered through the soreness in his own throat. Tonsillitis from Xander’s pain and not for the first time neither. Bustling towards that end of the pool, he cleared his throat, raised his voice, “Xander?”

Xander had kicked out again, one length of crawl then two then more; powerful arms and legs battering the water. Spike trudged on to Xander’s room and sat on a balcony chair, eyes narrowed out at the pool, fingers playing over the Zodiac book, thermos and pen on the table. His boy housed legion.

He poured a cup of coffee and dislodged the notepad from under the Zodiac book, snorting as he imagined what dire poetry William might have written for this occasion. He thumbed the notepad to its first page, angled it this way and that to try and make sense of the doodles Xander had drawn. Unable to makes sense, he flipped to the next page.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I want to tell you

I need to say how I felt growing

Jessica and Tony,

The rest of the page was blank. Looked like Harris was having trouble with his coming out speech. He wouldn’t have bothered, himself. Mom and Dad only took notice of things that were 40 percent proof and that came in 75ml bottles. Stocked quality spirits, he’d give them that. Those two, him with his quick temper and the missus with her stubborn streak when the drink took over, rowed like cat and dog they did. And the language, disgusting. Or entertaining when there was sod all to watch on the telly.

He didn’t like the blank space below ‘Dear Spike’ on the next page, reminded him of Xander’s empty stare. Why couldn’t Harris just sit him down for a natter instead of writing a letter he’d never give him? He flicked his blank page over and mused over the unfamiliar name on the page after.

Dear Cassandra,

Thank you for making me your Fall Guy. Gratious so freaking machos.

Xander

“Ooh, Spanish,” he chuckled, turning to the next page. It was Red’s, crammed sentences running on with shoddy punctuation, paragraphs rambling in little sequence.

Spike asked Fred to tweeze the glass out of his scalp and back She wanted to know what happened He told her the cross-bow accidentally went off, an arrow shot through the skylight. I brought the glass down on him and I felt so ashamed that he was covering for me. Jessica covers for Tony all the time.

“Was covering for myself, you pillock,” he said. “Had a tantrum, had to destroy, destroyed the glass over my own head; dim. Wasn’t going to admit that to Fred. Hang on,” he read the paragraph over, “What’s the connection between me and Jessica?”

He skim-read the rest of the page, looking for the connection between him and the brow beaten wife and wondering what they taught in school if not good penmanship. The writing sloped tighter and words were crossed through with dark lines, new words printed over them.

He spotted his name again and read in low tones, “Spike is a Scorpio. This book he gave me figures Scorpio is determined, possessive, compulsive, emotional, powerful, passionate, obstinate and exciting.”

He laughed out at the pool. “Ah come on Xander – you needed a star gazer to spell this out for you?”

Xander was still churning the water so Spike returned his attention to the notepad, experiencing a tug in his gut at the words that followed the listing of his supposed qualities. 

Spike paroled me today. Parole feels like being drowned awake in iced water. I put on my brave face and he’s always telling me to keep the mouth in check so I did then he looks at me like I cussed his mama Did I mention Spike is paradoxy? The zodiac book thinks so too if you read the subtext

The book knows me and Spike, its spooky. It says Taurus is inflexible self-indulgent jealous stubborn placid and security loving. Check. Taurus’ sexual nature meets more than its match in Scorpio. Check. Taurus has the stamina and desire to satisfy Scorpio in bed. Check. Yet this is a tempestuous affair and neither has the tolerance to nurture it into a lasting union It says immense forcefulness, magnetic intensity and watchful composure are only a fraction of Scorpio’s hypnotic personality.

Which part of this am I not living through?

I’m magnetised. Spike hypnotised me and didn’t take the hypnotise off before cutting me loose. What would you do Wills?

Bollocks. That’s what this astrology crap was, utter bollocks. Stars didn’t explain why Scorpio William’s personality had needed an overhaul to become forceful and magnetic. Spike had slogged on the overhaul and he wasn’t having twinkles take the credit for his work or letting them lead Xander to wrong conclusions.

He picked up the pen. Xander, he wrote, and once in his hand, the pen became part of him, composed his thoughts before he thought them. Not a poem but a point by point rebuttal speaking in the sincere way that Spike’s pens always spoke and written where Xander would be bound to find and hopefully read the letter. He glanced up at the louder splashing from the pool and wrote the post script as Xander climbed out. Arranging the books as he’d found them, he stood up, shook himself nonchalant and watched Xander cross the lawn.

Water streaming down the bronzed body, long legs, powerful shoulders, tight muscle, he noticed these about Xander in the automatic way that he’d have noticed a blonde bombshell in a wet T-shirt. Matter of fact, Harmony wasn’t averse to romping it up in wet, clingy apparel, but she’d never done this to him. Never made him want to pull his fangs out if it’d make her happy.  

Xander stopped below the balcony and tilted his head back. “Hey,” he smiled.

“I’d pull my fangs out,” he said.

“Just for the heck of it?”

“No, for you.”

“Thanks, but why?”

“To make you happy.”

“You don’t make me unhappy.”

“Well something’s making you swim laps like a glumly demented goldfish,” he lifted Xander’s backpack onto the balcony wall. “Want to offload?”

“Is that my stuff you got there? Great, I’ll be ten minutes,” Xander dashed into the bathroom.

Spike poured another coffee. “You’re gonna have to let it out someday, pet.”

*     *     *     *

“You get any sleep?” Xander asked, throwing a damp towel onto the unrumpled bed from an out of sight corner of his room.

“Three hours more than you,” he hefted the backpack onto his shoulder, walking into the room as Xander pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms. “I like the trunks. Stylishly one colour,” Spike said, sitting on the bed, arms around the backpack.

“Pool warming present from Dawn,” Xander scooped the trunks off the floor, towel off the bed and took them out, spreading them on the balcony wall. “She’s klepto again.”

Setting the backpack on the pillows, Spike lay back and blew a sigh at the skylight. “Can’t nick what’s free.”

“No, but Trail shopping is a two stage process,” Xander sat a hand-span away from him and dropped onto his back, jostling the mattress. “She skipped the asking stage and went straight to the taking stage.”

Having a comment to make about Xander, Trail shopping and taking without permission, Spike frowned in concession to starting that again. “The window could do with blinds.”

Xander stuffed a pillow under his head, “Room’s great Spike, thanks.” He nibbled a corner off his smile.

“You hate it.”

“Are you kidding?” Xander protested louder than Spike thought necessary, “Wall to wall rug, hand washing facilities and walk in wardrobe, what’s to hate?”

Didn’t hate it so much he hadn’t even tried to sleep in it? Spike folded his arm across his eyes to block out the sun’s brilliance through the skylight. “Mind if I nap on your bed?”

“I’d like that,” Xander jostled the mattress again. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“What I said about being your First Officer, it came out distorted.”

He shifted, reached over and pulled Xander close so they lay back to chest, his brow on the back of Xander’s head. “We both came out distorted that night. Forget about it.”

“Okay. But in case you’re wondering, what I’d wanted to say was, it’s been an honor working under you, Captain.”

Spike laughed, brushing a hand down Xander’s arm. They’d be alright. He’d read it in the stars.

CHILDE OF MY HEART ~ CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

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